


Chords

by Nimtheriel



Series: The Chariot [1]
Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Chill V, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gender-Neutral V (Cyberpunk 2077), Guitars, Johnny showing emotional vulnerability, Johnny-level swearing, Minor Angst, Music, Other, Soft Johnny Silverhand, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28646544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimtheriel/pseuds/Nimtheriel
Summary: There are many things Johnny misses about being alive. Music is one of the most painful.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand & V
Series: The Chariot [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2080152
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Chords

Shopping isn’t normally something V takes pleasure in. Spending money has never come as easily as making it. They have a tendency to second-guess whether or not they truly need something, a habit picked up from the years where such a distinction was necessary. Now that they’ve got a foot in the door at the Afterlife, money isn’t typically an issue but it still feels wrong to spend it on luxuries.

They hesitate, weighing a new rifle in their hands as the man behind the counter does nothing to hide his impatience. He even drums his fingers on the countertop.

Finally, V hands the rifle back. “Not today, thanks.”

The salesman’s face twists in displeasure. “Will you be buying anything?” he asks.

“Come on, V, you at least need some ammo.” Johnny materializes to their left, a lit cigarette between his fingers. “Almost ran out in that last scrap, remember?”

V nods. “ _Thanks, Johnny._ ” Out loud, they order a case of high caliber rounds. It’s become easier between them over the past couple weeks. They’ve been working together more often in combat, with Johnny on high alert calling out hazards V wouldn’t have picked up on their own. Subconsciously, V has stopped expecting Johnny to try and take over their body. They still don’t know his exact motives or goals aside from how much he wants to see Arasaka burn, but the way they view each other is starting to feel suspiciously like trust. It makes it far too easy to view Johnny not as a parasite but a friend. Every time they feel it, they try to fight it back before Johnny catches on. Not only is it a bad look, but it could be dangerous. What if he’s playing a different game?

Hefting the case of ammo under one arm, V transfers the eddies with a simple gesture and turns to leave. As they do, they hear the song on the radio change. Recognition takes hold, and they grin at Johnny. “ _Hey, isn’t this one of yours?_ ”

Johnny makes a sour face and takes another drag on his cig. “One of Kerry’s, more like,” he says. “We never could decide on the direction we wanted to take it, so we wrote both versions. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised it’s his that’s survived all these years.”

V pauses by the door to listen. “ _The guitarist does sound pretty bitter,_ ” they admit.

“We were all bitter back then.” Johnny flickers to V’s side, tossing the cig aside. “Some of us still are.”

V thinks about this, about 2020 Johnny pouring out his rage into guitars and bombs and faceless women, only to wake up fifty years later and find none of it mattered. The world turns mercilessly onwards. “ _You should play it for me,_ ” V says, pushing the thoughts aside before Johnny can accuse them of pity. “ _Your version, I mean._ ”

“Can’t,” Johnny says. “Apparently when Arasaka was ripping the soul from my body they forgot to throw in the guitar. Come on, get us home. That gonk behind the counter is starting to stare.”

V starts to walk, but they don’t drop the subject. Johnny’s projection flickers out and they’re left with just a voice in their head.

“ _Just make a guitar,_ ” V says.

“What do I look like, a fuckin’ carpenter?”

“ _No, like…_ ” They press the idea into his mind. “ _Like how your projection makes sunglasses and cigarettes._ ”

There’s a pause while Johnny thinks. “Don’t know exactly how I do that. Guess I just expect them to be there and they are.”

V mounts their bike outside the shop and sends a blip of encouragement Johnny’s way. “ _I bet you could do the same with a guitar,_ ” they say. “ _That’s more a part of you than the cigs._ ”

They’re on the road when Johnny finally responds. “What makes you think I even want to play for you?”

“ _Don’t have to do it for anyone. But you miss it._ ” V knows that much, has felt the ache of loss whenever they pass by a busker on the street. So much of Johnny is tied up with his music, it seeps across their link to the point where V has considered taking guitar lessons just to make him feel better. Johnny was firmly against the idea, and though he didn’t come out and say it V knew why. Bad enough that he should have to watch others take part in what he’s denied, but to feel V’s fingers stumble over familiar strings would be too much. What he really wants, V knows, is some time alone in their body to play. As much as V feels his pain, they certainly aren’t about to let him run around wearing their skin. They hope this new idea will establish a middle ground.

Back at the apartment, V kicks off their boots and drops onto the couch. “So?” they say aloud. “Wanna give it a shot?”

Johnny flickers in next to them. He’s wearing his Samurai shirt in place of his Kevlar vest, which V thinks is a good sign. “What exactly am I supposed to be doing?” he says. “Manifesting a guitar with the power of my mind? You gonna teach me to bend spoons next?”

“I don’t know,” V admits. “How do you make your cigs appear?”

“They’re in my pocket. Always are.”

“And you never run out.”

He glares at them. “Think I know how this shit works?”

“Just try reaching for it or something.”

He does. He lets his eyes drift to the window, then casually reaches a hand to the right. His fingers close around empty air. Glancing down, he scoffs. “Don’t know what I expected.”

Rather than disappointment, V feels encouraged that he’s willing to try. “Keep at it,” they suggest.

Johnny says nothing, but he does try again. After a couple minutes pass with no results, he slams his silver fist on the couch. His expression is angry, but V can feel the hurt tugging at him as well. He feels V’s attention, stands abruptly, and starts to pace. “God, I need a fuckin’ cig.”

“So make one.”

“A real cig. V—”

V shakes their head. “I told you, no.”

Johnny growls, raking a hand through his hair. He looks as wild as he ever did, but V knows he’s come a long way from the man who tried to kill them. They remain on the couch, the calm to Johnny’s storm, and wait as he paces himself out. Finally, he does, gone one moment and there on the couch the next. He puts on his aviators and becomes a stone wall to V’s eyes and mind.

“Could try again later,” V says at last.

Johnny shrugs, impassive. “Nah. Don’t think it’ll work. Can’t make myself believe it’s there.”

“If you did believe it, think you could pull it off?”

“Hard to say. Maybe it’s not as much a part of me as you think.”

V sits forward, eyes keen. “I know you, Johnny. I know what this means to you.”

“Doesn’t mean shit. Gave it up when I chose to nuke ’Saka Tower instead of living with myself.”

There’s silence for a long moment, and V lets it sit.

Finally, Johnny sighs. “Music used to be a refuge,” he says. His hands are restless, animated. “Somewhere I could work out all the shit in my head. Eventually it stopped being about that, started being how I got high. Always chasin’ the next hit, wanted it to be bigger and better than the last. Towards the end, music, the band, all of it, wasn’t enough. Wasn’t making a difference, not to me, not to the world. And when I snapped, well.” He gives a humorless laugh. “Boom.”

V’s felt it, that craving for action. Johnny thrives in chaos, preferably that of his own making. V isn’t sure he knows how to live another way.

“I don’t,” he says in answer to the thought. “Can’t sit still, can’t think unless everything’s dialed up to eleven.”

“And music, that helps you focus?”

“Used to,” Johnny says. “Think I lost it when Alt died. Nothing was right after that.”

There isn’t much V can say to that. “I’m sorry.”

Johnny stands. “Don’t be. It’s the least of what I deserve.”

V scowls. “Man, don’t you ever get tired of that?”

“Of what?”

“Hating yourself. Half the time you talk like you’re God’s gift to the world, but underneath that—”

“V,” Johnny warns.

“—you wanna tear yourself apart as much as anyone else.”

Johnny glowers down at them. “So you’re my fucking shrink now, is that it?”

V rubs their face. They don’t want to start a fight, not when things had been going so well. “Whatever. I’m gonna take a shower before bed.”

Johnny flickers out of sight, leaving V alone. They stand with a sigh and wander over to their small bathroom.

Standing beneath the blistering hot water, they think about Johnny and what the limitations of his projection might be. It’s better than thinking about the second half of their conversation. Mechanics and technology have always come to V more easily than people. Johnny’s vulnerability makes them feel touched, but uncomfortable. Far easier to work on the problem of getting him a virtual guitar. He seems to create his cigarettes subconsciously, like a lucid dream or muscle memory. V can think of a few avenues that might yield results.

When they come out of the bathroom, hair damp and skin tingling, they find Johnny waiting for them on the couch. His projection is sprawled out with his head tipped back, hands tapping out a drum line on his knees. He doesn’t look over as V sits down next to him.

_“Still mad?_ ” they think to him.

“Not sure,” he says. “Still a bitch?”

V thinks that’s hardly fair, but they’ve learned to let these little jabs go and save their energy for bigger things. They’ve found the best way to handle his needling is to simply wait until he says what he meant to say all along.

Finally, Johnny sits up and looks over. “These ideas of yours,” he says. “Let’s hear them.”

V gives him a lopsided smile. “It’s gonna sound stupid.”

“That’s no surprise.”

“But I need you to try, really try, all the same.”

It’s quiet for a moment. V can feel Johnny considering how much control he’s willing to give V. “Lay it on me,” he says at length.

Under V’s direction, he stands in front of the couch with his arms loose at his sides, eyes closed. V closes their eyes as well to limit distractions.

“Imagine being onstage, okay? Couple hundred groupies in the crowd, screamin’ for you. Lights in your eyes.” They call up one of Johnny’s memories, reading it like a picture book. “Think about how it feels having the band at your back. Think about the anticipation of the first chord. You’re behind the mic, got your axe weighing on your shoulders.” Their eyes flick over to the radio, silently queuing up the bootleg Samurai recording they’d found a couple days back. They see Johnny stand up straighter as the opening drum line blasts through the apartment. His metal fingers twitch— _One, two, three, four!_ —before he suddenly brings up both hands and starts to play.

The opening chord rocks V to their core, and for a moment it’s like they’re at that concert. Johnny whirls to face them, grinning like they’ve never seen before, and _he’s playing his guitar._ V couldn’t have pinpointed the exact moment it came into being, but it’s there now, as solid as Johnny. The decals, the wear and tear, all of it exactly as V has seen in Johnny’s memories. The way he plays, though, is different than they remember. This Johnny seems more full of joy than anger, his fingers light and playful on the frets. V finds themself swept along, laughing and clapping to the beat as he moves through the song. The ups and downs, the turns of phrase, all seem as familiar as old friends. Johnny sings along as he struts in front of the couch like it’s the front row to his latest gig. Through their link V can feel his triumph, his confidence. It’s the first time they’ve experienced real happiness through Johnny, and they find it just as powerful and just as wild as his anger. There’s danger in his smile, and V can’t help but feel electrified by it.

When he strikes the last chord, V applauds along with the cheering audience on the recording. Johnny takes a bow.

“Y’know, you’re not bad at that,” V tells him. “Original artist played it better though.” They laugh at the silver finger they’re shown in response. Johnny vanishes and reappears on the couch across from them, clutching the guitar like he’s afraid it will vanish again. He’s still smiling, though, which is a win in V’s book.

The rest of the evening has a celebratory air that even meat paste for dinner can’t stifle. Out of the corner of their eye, V keeps catching Johnny practicing his newfound ability to manifest his guitar. He catches on fast, soon able to do it in the blink of an eye. There’s a companionable feeling between them as they banter back and forth. It’s only as V is climbing into bed that Johnny’s tone becomes more serious.

“Hey, V?”

“Mmh?”

“Thanks.”

V closes their eyes, smiling up at the ceiling. They’re already drifting off.

They wake from a dream of a taxi’s backseat, the stench of copper smothering their senses. Gradually, they take in their surroundings, eyes lighting on Johnny. He’s sitting on the couch, guitar in hand, quietly plucking out a hesitant tune. V watches him through their lashes, wondering if he knows they’re awake. There’s something raw about the chords he keeps returning to.

_He’s writing,_ they realize, and the thought is loud enough to make Johnny look up. His hands quickly dampen the sound from the strings.

“I wake you up?”

“ _No. You can keep playing if you want._ ”

Johnny nods. His fingers move up the neck of the guitar, and something soft whispers out of the instrument. V closes their eyes and lets the gentle music wrap around them like an extra blanket. There’s a promise of safety in the notes Johnny plays. Bit by bit, they relax until they are welcomed once again into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Did y'all know there's a secret room with a slideshow of the devs where Johnny will pull out a guitar and play for you? Got me thinking.


End file.
